


I'll Take Fluffy Romance for 500, Alex.

by ix3thehpseries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: also general delinquent fluff bc that's always a good time, and the first one is already over that, ayyyy we finally got to the bellarke, good to know that i haven't gotten any better at sticking to wordcounts in the last six months, i'm trying to write some other ships this month too tho, my goal was gonna be 500 words per drabble, so get stoked for some mackson in linctavia thrown in there, straight bellarke fluff and banter in this one, there will be a lot more of them don't worry, this chapter is straight bellarke banter. about alcohol. bc obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ix3thehpseries/pseuds/ix3thehpseries
Summary: New year, new drabble collection. All between 500-1k words.7: “Dammit! I lost my phone!”“Ah, one sec! I’ll call it for you!”“Nonononono wait-”  for Bellarke.8: "I'm really sorry I keep staring but I dreamed about you horribly dying last night and I just wanted to make sure you don't spontaneously combust" for Bellarke.9: "I meant for that snowball to hit my friend but you came around the corner at the last second and now we’re having a snowball fight" for Minty.10: “I'm having an allergic reaction, but you think it's a joke. Please help me I can't breath” for Bellarke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You keep bringing your car into my shop with a series of increasingly unlikely problems and my professional opinion is it’d be cheaper for you to just ask me to dinner already" for Sea Mechanic.

Raven would like to say the first thing she notices is the woman’s wild, curly hair. That once she got to know her, she would look back on their first meeting and think that her hair was great representation of her, a warning of what was to come, and that it suited her well.

But Raven’s not the sentimental one of the group – that’s Bellamy. The first thing Raven notices is how she cuts the curb when she pulls into the lot. The second thing she notices is that the car itself is an absolute piece of shit.

“Hello, I’m Luna,” she says. “Are you Raven?”

Raven wipes her hands off on a rag before offering one to Luna. “That’s me. We don’t accept scrap, but I can give you a list of places that can take that off your hands,” she says, jerking her head at the car.

Luna’s brow creases and then she says, “I’m actually here for an oil change. Lincoln recommended I come here. He said you’re the best in town.”

“You want an oil change?” Raven asks. Luna nods and Raven crosses her arms, circling the car once.

When she’s standing next to Luna again she sighs. “You want my professional opinion?”

“Is your professional opinion going to be that I need more work done than an oil change?”

Raven snorts. “My professional opinion is that you should sell it for scrap. You don’t need an oil change, you need a new car.”

There’s a twinkle in Luna’s eyes when she asks, “Telling me to sell my car seems like bad business for a mechanic.”

“Taking your money for an oil change when you need a new damn car is also bad business for a mechanic. People don’t like being scammed.”

Luna hums in agreement. “Am I in any immediate danger if I continue to drive it?” she asks.

This is when Raven notices her hair. And the rest of Luna. She gives her a once over and shakes her head. “No, you’re not in any immediate danger.”

Luna shrugs. “Then give me the oil change, please.”

*

It’s a month before Luna’s back and Raven wants to say I told you so, but she’s still driving the car and it seems to be running fine, so she really has no place.

“Hello, Raven.” Luna says with a smile as she gets out of the car. It’s warm, once of the first warm days of the year, and Luna’s in a long summer dress that flutters around as she walks.

Raven returns her smile and says, “Luna. What can I help you with, today?”

“I think my alignment is… out of alignment.”

“Yeah?” Raven asks, her smile growing. “What could possibly cause that?”

“I have no idea,” Luna says. “I’m a fantastic driver.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “I saw you cut the curb when you pulled in _and_ when you pulled out last time you were here,” she says. Then, “It’s pretty empty right now and I can get this done pretty quickly, if you wanna wait around?”

Luna nods. “That would be wonderful. It’s been pulling to the left.”

*

“It just… fell off?”

“Yes.”

Raven runs a hand over her face. “Your mirror just fell off? You didn’t hit anything? It just fell?”

“Yes,” Luna says. “It’s an old car. I’m not really surprised something like this happened.”

“Of course you’re not,” Raven says. “You can hang out while I fix this. It shouldn’t take long.”

“Excellent. Did I ever tell you about that time I had to duct tape my exhaust back on?”

*

“Jesus Christ,” Raven says when Luna pulls in with the passenger door in the trunk.

Luna raises her hands at Raven’s look. “This one wasn’t my fault. A friend of mine couldn’t get the door shut and it broke when they tried to push it shut.”

“I’m just saying,” Raven says, hefting the door out of the trunk and carrying it into the garage, “if a car is worth driving, parts of it don’t just fall off.”

“This didn’t fall,” Luna argues, following Raven and hopping up onto a worktable. “It was pushed.”

“Because it’s rusted halfway through,” Raven grumbles.

When Luna picks the car up three days later she thanks Raven and shoots her a grin as she revs the engine before pulling out of the lot.

“Get a new car!” Raven yells after her.

*

When Luna brings her car in at the end of the summer because it’s making a _ch-ch-ch-skrrrrrrrt!_ noise, Raven thinks she’s figured out what’s going on.

“I totally believe that your car is making that noise,” she says, “But I also think you’re better off selling the damn thing for scrap and just asking me out for dinner instead of bringing your piece of junk car in for repairs that aren’t worth it.”

“That’s your professional opinion?” Luna asks, a smile playing around her lips.

“That’s my professional opinion, yes,” Raven says.

Luna grins, “I guess if I want to take my mechanic out to dinner, I‘ll have to start listening to her opinions about my car.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My parents thought I was working for an insurance company in New York when really I was joining the CIA so I just sort of never mentioned when I met you on an assassination-gone-wrong and now we’ve been married for five years and they still don’t know you exist, this has gotten wildly out of hand and you won’t stop laughing about it" for Minty.

“Monty!” Nate hisses, throwing Monty’s clothes into the two open suitcases lying on their bed. “This is serious! Stop laughing!”

It takes him a minute to finally stop, but when Nate grabs his pillow, Monty loses it again.

“Stop laughing and help me!”

Monty takes a deep breath and says, not unreasonably, “Don’t you think it’ll be more suspicious that you only have one pillow on your king size bed than it would be to just tell your dad we’re married?”

Nate pauses in trying to close the overstuffed suitcase and glares at Monty. “My dad thinks I’m an insurance agent. That means he doesn’t know I’m in the CIA or that I regularly get shot at or that I met you when _you_ accidentally got shot instead of me _or_ that we’re married!”

He pulls the zipper one more time and it breaks, sending him tumbling backward and Monty into a whole new fit of laughter.

Nate groans and lets himself fall back onto the floor, covering his hands with his face.

“Babe,” Monty says through his laughter, “Babe, really, it’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad,” Nate grumbles. “My dad doesn’t know I’m married. He thinks I’m an insurance agent. I’ve been lying to him for five years. I’m the worst son ever.”

“Nate,” Monty says, leaning over him and pulling his hands away from his face. “You’re not the worst son ever. You lied to protect him. He already knows we’re friends, we’ll just pretend that I’m your boyfriend and the whole thing’s solved. It’s not like your dad is gonna come up here and inspect our closet. Everything will be fine.”

***

Monty never quite understood why Nate didn’t tell his dad that he was in the CIA. Nate says it was to protect him, but that never quite made sense to Monty. Especially when Nate had to go through so much trouble – talking around important parts of his life, never seeing his dad, always being on guard - to keep up the ruse.

It makes a little more sense once they’re eating dinner with Mr. Miller, who spends a solid twenty minutes talking about how happy he is that his son didn’t follow his footsteps into law enforcement and instead decided to go to college and work for an insurance company.

“A safe job,” Mr. Miller says. “That’s all I wanted for my boy. My mom always told me how hard it was to see me go into a job where my safety wasn’t guaranteed, but I didn’t truly understand that until Nate told me that he was thinking about following in my footsteps.”

“Yeah,” Monty says. “I’m glad that Nate’s got a safe job, too. I can’t imagine if he were in like, the CIA or something. That would be stressful.”

Nate kicks him under the table, but Mr. Miller doesn’t notice.

“Exactly. And he’s met such nice people through the company. You, for one, and Bellamy,” Mr. Miller says. “Nate thought working in insurance would be boring, but I told him that it would be worthwhile, for the people.”

“Yep.” Monty can see the look Nate’s shooting him from across the table, but it’s Nate’s own fault for not remembering that Monty is the worst liar on the face of the Earth. “Bellamy works at the insurance company, too. That’s where Nate met him.”

Mr. Miller cocks his head to the side, confusion all over his face. “Monty are you… okay?”

“Nate doesn’t-!”

A hand covering his mouth keeps Monty from finishing his sentence. Which would be fine, if it were Monty’s hand. But it’s Nate’s. Nate, who has just leapt across the table and knocked Monty clean out of his chair.

“Nate doesn’t really like Bellamy,” Nate says weakly, a smile that looks more like a grimace on his face. “That guy’s kind of dick, really. I haven’t talked to him much since that time we all got coffee-“

“Nate,” Mr. Miller says, standing and holding up a hand. “What’s going on?”

“I-“ Nate starts, before sighing and pulling his hand away from Monty’s mouth.

“Nate doesn’t work for an insurance company, he’s in the CIA!” Nate winces when Monty’s done speaking and Monty shoots him an apologetic look. “Sorry. You know I’m not good with secrets.”

“You… what?” Mr. Miller asks, sitting back down.

Nate stands, pulling Monty up with him. “I don’t work for an insurance company. I work for the CIA.” Mr. Miller opens his mouth, but Nate continues on, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, dad. I didn’t want you to worry about me all the time. I thought this would be better and by the time I realized it wasn’t, I’d already been lying to you for so long that I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.”

Mr. Miller is quiet for a few tense, awkward minutes before finally saying, “Nate, I love you no matter what. I wish you felt that you could have been honest with me sooner, but you being in the CIA isn’t going to upset me. I’m more upset that I haven’t really know what’s going on in your life for the last five years.”

Nate crosses the room to hug his dad and it’s a nice moment.

Until Monty blurts out that Nate also never told his dad they’re married.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're the mom friend of the group and I'm the dad friend of the group, I think we should get together, y'know for the kids" for Bellarke.

Clarke really wasn’t planning on a whole speech. The idea was to have a shot or two for courage, calmly confess her feeling to Bellamy, and hopefully ride off into the sunset together to live happily ever after.

Or, more likely, ride off in an Uber back to her place to finally hook up.

This would be a great plan, except on shot turns into two turns into four turns into her lamenting the state of her love life to Raven and _not_ confessing her feelings to Bellamy.

“I thought you were gonna talk to him,” Raven says. She’s looking at Clarke with a mix of disdain and awe that only she can pull off. “How did this even happen? We got here like, less than two hours ago.”

“Murphy was working the bar tonight,” Clarke replies. “Fucking Murphy.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“Can you not use such fucking big words when I’ve had this many shots?”

Raven just raises an eyebrow and Clarke sighs. “I did a shot for courage. But it didn’t give me enough courage, so Murphy gave me another and then another and then maybe another.” Her face scrunches up in thought for a minute. “Four. I did four shots.”

“Jesus,” Raven mutters. “Okay, maybe don’t confess your undying love for Bellamy tonight? Since you’re gonna be totally shitfaced in about ten minutes.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, frowning at the shot Murphy slides in front of her. “Maybe I’ll wait on it.”

***

When Bellamy finds her a little bit later at the bar, she completely forgets her conversation with Raven and turns to face him.

“Look, Bell,” Clarke says, serious. She’s trying to look into his eyes, but sometimes he has two and sometimes he has four, so it’s difficult. “You’re the mom friend of the group and I’m the dad friend so we should just get married, for the kids, y’know? Jasper would be so happy.”

Bellamy clears his throat, trying to match Clarke’s tone, but the smile dancing around his lips gives him away. “So, you’re saying you wanna get married for Jasper?”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. “Not just Jasper. For all of them. They all want us to get married.”

“Right,” Bellamy says. He’s fully grinning now as he leans around Clarke to grab her coat off the barstool behind her. “How much have you had to drink?”

It takes Clarke a minute to remember. “Five shots,” she finally says, as Bellamy helps her into her coat. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to take you home, because you’ve had five shots in quick succession and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna throw up soon,” he says.

Clarke watches as he calls over Murphy, settles their tabs, and then turns back to her.

“C’mon, Princess,” he says, putting a hand on her back. “I’ll text Raven from the Uber and tell her you’re crashing with me.”

Once they’re in the car, Clarke lets her head fall against Bellamy’s shoulder. She did what she wanted to do tonight. Have a few drinks, tell Bellamy how she feels, and go home with him. Mission accomplished.

***

Clarke wakes up the next morning in Bellamy’s bed, without Bellamy, and she feels a little less certain.

She’s only alone for a few minutes - enough time to account for all of her clothes, to realize that her throat feels like something died in it, and for her head to feel like it might explode when she tries to sit up.

Her hands are covering her eyes and she’s groaning when she hears the door open.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Bellamy says. He’s in his pajamas and he’s wearing his glasses, so Clarke just groans again in response.

“Yeah, I thought you might feel that way. I brought you some aspirin and water.” Bellamy hands her the pills and watches her down half the glass, a small smile on his face.

He waits until she’s almost finished to ask, “So, are we still getting married?”

Clarke nearly chokes on the last of her water. “What?” she splutters.

“Last night,” Bellamy says, the smile on his face growing. “You told me that I’m the mom friend and you’re the dad friend, so we should get married for the kids. Mainly Jasper, I think.”

“Oh, God,” Clarke says, covering her face again. “I forgot about that.”

“I don’t know, it’s not a bad idea,” Bellamy says. Clarke can’t quite read his tone, so she peeks out at him between her fingers and sees that his eyes are firmly on the headboard behind her. “If it’s for the kids, I mean. We should probably get together.”

Clarke pulls her hands away from her face and waits for Bellamy to look at her before giving him a small smile and saying, “Yeah, for the kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, I posted before eleven at night today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I need to replace my little sister's fish before she gets home from her friend's house so that she won't know he died" for Bellarke.

In hindsight, Bellamy definitely should’ve realized he was at Clarke’s dad’s pet store. He calls her “Princess” for a reason.

But when he searched “pet stores near me” the first one to come up had a four star rating and was close enough to walk to - he didn’t even bother paying attention to the name, _Griffin's Pet Palace_. 

He also didn’t bother paying attention when he asked a blonde employee with her back toward him if they sold goldfish.

“Of course we sell goldfish, Bellamy,” Clarke snaps, crossing her arms and looking at him like he’s one of the snakes a few aisles over. “They’re one of the most basic pets. What kind of pet store do you think we are?”

Bellamy mirrors her stance. “Well, I’ve been in here for ten minutes and I haven’t been able to find any yet, so clearly not a good one, Princess.”

“Maybe if you took your head out of your ass,” Clarke says, “it would be easier to find them.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be such a dick to your paying customers,” Bellamy shoots back. “Don’t they teach you customer service skills here?”

“Those rules only apply if the customer didn’t argue with me for twenty minutes in History yesterday and call me a ‘spoiled princess’,” Clarke says, turning back to the shelves she’d been stocking.

“You started it,” Bellamy mumbles. Then, louder, “Whatever, can you just show me where the goldfish are? _Please_?”

Clarke’s shoulders sag with the massive sigh she lets out, but she turns back around, plasters on what’s clearly a fake smile, and says, “Follow me.”

She leads him to the last aisle of the shop and turns down it, pointing at the three large tanks of goldfish. Bellamy peers into the tanks, walking back and forth among them before finally settling in front of the middle one.

They’ve been standing there in silence for a few minutes when Clarke says, “They’re all the same.”

“I’m replacing my sister’s goldfish,” Bellamy replies, not looking away from the tank. He points toward a brightly-colored fish that’s a bit on the smaller side. “That one.” 

“That one?”

“That one,” Bellamy repeats, still not taking his eyes off of it.

Clarke gives him a look, but reaches for a plastic bag and skimmer anyway. “You’re sure?”

Bellamy finally turns to her, watching as she fills the plastic back with water. “That one looks like Cerberus.”

“You named your goldfish Cerberus?” Clarke asks as she nudges Bellamy out of the way so that she can get to the tank.

“My litter sister named him,” Bellamy explains. “She won him at her school fair two years ago, with a couple others. We thought they all died in like, two days, but when I cleaned the tank a few days later, he was still alive and had eaten all the other dead fish. So O named him Cerberus.”

Clarke gets the fish Bellamy picked out of the tank and into the bag. “That story doesn’t make it any more of a normal name for a fish,” she says.

“Look, can you please just let me buy my goldfish and take him home before my sister gets back from her friend’s house?” Bellamy asks. “I don’t want her to know he died.”

“Yeah, let me check you out,” Clarke says, handing the bag with the fish to Bellamy.

He follows her to the checkout counter and waits while she goes around behind it.

“How old is your sister?” she asks as she rings him up.

“Eleven.”

Clarke nods. “It’s nice that you’re looking out for her.”

Bellamy shrugs and rubs the back on his neck. “She’s my sister,” he says.

“Here’s your change,” Clarke says with a small smile. “See you at school, Bellamy”

“See you Monday, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke thinks Bellamy's taste in alcohol is worse than the Budweiser he drinks.

In typical Friday fashion, Clarke arrives at Bellamy’s apartment at seven, with takeout and a six-pack.

When she knocks, Bellamy calls, “It’s open!”

“You’re gonna get murdered!” Clarke calls back cheerfully, locking the door behind her.

She walks into the living room and sets the takeout on the coffee table, pausing before going into the kitchen to raise an eyebrow at Bellamy.

He’s bent over at the waist, half-hidden behind the TV, stretching to reach something.

“So,” Clarke says, toeing off her shoes. “What are you doing?”

Bellamy swears and stretches further. “I couldn’t get Netflix to work, so I’m trying to reset the box. Can you grab forks and beer?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Clarke says. She heads into the kitchen and grabs silverware, then takes out one of her beers and opens the fridge to chill the rest.

“Yes!” Bellamy shouts out, triumphant, “It’s working!”

“You’re a fucking genius,” Clarke shouts back.

“Don’t be sarcastic, it’s rude,” Bellamy says, flopping down on the couch and grabbing the remote.

Clarke rolls her eyes and finishes putting her beer away. Then she reaches for one of Bellamy’s.

Her voice is slightly muffled, but the disgust in it is clear. “Seriously?” she says, slamming the door of the fridge.

Bellamy winces and lets his head fall back onto the couch. “Be nice to my appliances, I can’t afford new ones.”

“Who drinks Budweiser?” she says, waving the bottle around for emphasis as she walks into the room. “It’s not even Bud Light, it’s Budweiser.” She holds it out, label facing him like he’s not aware of what type of beer he drinks. “ _Budweiser_ ,” she repeats.

He sits up and makes a show of inspecting the label. Clarke huffs at him and throws herself down on the couch, shoving the beer toward him.

“I can’t believe you drink that shit,” she mutters, setting the forks on the coffee table and then twisting off the top of her own beer.

Bellamy scoffs and shoots her a look. “I can’t believe you drink that shit. It’s sugar.”

“It’s cider,” she says, taking a sip. “And it tastes good.”

“My Bud tastes good,” Bellamy mumbles, cradling his bottle closer to his chest as he slumps down the couch, like he’s trying to protect it from Clarke’s glare.

She rolls her eyes. “It tastes like sewer water.”

“Whatever," Bellamy says, "At least I’m not gonna end up coming down from a sugar high in addition to my hangover tomorrow."

“At least I’m going to actually enjoy what I’m drinking,” Clarke shoots back.

“I like how it tastes.”

Clarke wrinkles her nose. “Literally the only thing worse than the taste of Bud is your taste in booze.”

“And your taste is so great?” Bellamy asks. “You drink cider and Mike’s. _Mike’s_ , Clarke. That’s what high schoolers drink.”

Clarke shrugs. “Better those than Bud and bottom-shelf Vodka.”

“I was raised on Bud and bottom-shelf Vodka and you can pry my love for them out of my cold, dead hands.”

“You know,” Clarke says, tone bored as she reaches for the containers on the coffee table, “you could just drink things that taste good.”

Bellamy glares at her. “I drink these on principal.”

“HA!” Clarke shouts, standing and almost upending the take out, “You admit that they don’t even taste good!”

Bellamy pauses and Clarke crosses her arms, a triumphant grin on her face.

“…Fuck you, Princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very strong feelings about Clarke drinking alcohol that tastes good bc she has standards and Bellamy being 100% loyal to his shitty beer and bottom-shelf Vodka bc _it's the principal, Clarke_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was super pissed so I went to the gym even tho it’s really late at night so I was the only one there and I was at the punching bag listening to music and you surprised me by tapping me on the shoulder, holy shit I didn’t mean to punch you, I’m so sorry, but srsly why the hell would you sURPRISE SOMEONE WHO IS ANGRY AND PUNCHING THINGS” for Linctavia.

When she finds out that her boyfriend’s been cheating on her, Octavia goes to the gym. Her boxing class isn’t until Friday and it’s almost nine at night, but the instructor always encourages them to get in extra practice and she really, _really_ wants to hit something.

She sets up the punching bag, grabs the gloves that she uses during class, and puts on her “Angry AF” playlist. Once she’s set, she puts on her gloves and starts punching.

Octavia starts out doing combinations that she’s learned in class, but it turns into just punching and kicking to the beat of the music, trying to keep up with the fast beats. Her adrenaline kicks in and it feels good, sweating out her anger in an empty gym.

She’s so in the zone, that when she feels a tap on her shoulder she lets out a shout and punches her attacker in the face, sending them reeling back onto the floor

“Oh my god!” she shouts. She tries to tug off her headphones, but she’s still wearing her boxing gloves, so she mostly just bats at the side of her head like a cat.

That’s when Octavia realizes that the man she just punched is Lincoln, her boxing instructor. He’s over six feet tall, all muscle, has the most gorgeous eyes, and Octavia might have always had a bit of a crush on him. And she just punched him in the face.

“Oh my god!” she says again, a groan this time. She gets off her gloves and tugs her headphones down so that they’re around her neck before bending down to squat in front of Lincoln.

“Lincoln, I’m _so_ sorry, I thought I was the only one in here, so I freaked out,” Octavia says, wincing when he pulls his hand away from his face. His reflexes were quick enough that she didn’t hit him square in the face, but a mark is already forming on his left cheekbone. “Do you want me to find you an ice pack?”

Lincoln blinks his eyes a few times and the shakes his head experimentally. “No, that’s alright. Thank you though. I think there’s a few spare ice packs in the staff room,” He says, shifting to stand.

Octavia’s quick to get to her feet first, holding out a hand to help Lincoln up. He gives her a smile and accepts her help.

“That was some great form,” Lincoln says, once he’s standing. He turns to head to the staff room and keeps talking, so Octavia follows.

“You were really solid behind that punch, aimed where you’re supposed to aim in the event of an attack, and even before that, on the bag, you were really killing it.”

“Thanks,” Octavia says. She hangs back at the door while Lincoln goes into the room and starts digging around through some drawers. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I was pissed and wanted to get out some energy, so I was mostly just trying to keep up with the music.”

Lincoln hums and then lets out a little triumphant, “ha!” when he finds a spare ice pack.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what got you so mad?”

“A cheating bastard of an ex-boyfriend.”

Lincoln winces. “I’d hate to be him.”

“You basically were,” Octavia says, grinning at him. “I couldn’t hit him, so I came here to hit the bag and ended up hitting you.”

“Well,” Lincoln says, returning her smile, half of his face now hidden by the ice pack, “I’m glad you were able to channel your anger into something positive.”

He pauses, thinking, and then says, “How would you feel about teaching a kickboxing class at the gym?”

“I – what?” Octavia asks.

“A kickboxing class,” Lincoln repeats. “You’d have to get a group training certification, but we could give you a temporary crash course that would allow you to teach until then.” When Octavia doesn’t say anything he continues, “I think you’d be good for it. We’re looking for someone to fill a fifty-minute class, setting up some combinations to music. It would be more cardio than the classes you normally take, but I think you could handle it.”

“You want me to teach a kickboxing class? Seriously?”

“Like I said, I think you’d be very good,” Lincoln says.

Octavia cocks her head to the side, considering. “Yeah, okay,” she says, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Why don’t we discuss this more tomorrow over coffee?”

Lincoln grins back at her. ‘That sounds great.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dammit! I lost my phone!”  
> “Ah, one sec! I’ll call it for you!”  
> “Nonononono wait-” for Bellarke.

Clarke wouldn’t say that she’s happy for Bellamy’s current situation, but if she’s being completely honest, she’s not mad about it.

As it is, Bellamy’s sitting on the other end of her couch with her feet in his lap. What’s left of their Thai takeout is sitting on her coffee table, the bottle of wine she opened in half-empty, and they just finished some new documentary that Bellamy found on Netflix.

It sucks that Bellamy’s girlfriend had to dump him for them to get here, but Clarke didn’t really like her that much to begin with, and she doesn’t have to drunk-cry to Raven about how they’re going to get married and live happily ever after, leaving Clarke alone in her sad, unrequited love of her best friend anymore.

So, Clarke wouldn’t say she’s happy about it, but only because it would be kicking him while he’s down.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, on a yawn, “I think it’s time to call it a night.” He stands, dislodging Clarke’s feet and grins at her noise of protest.

“You’re probably right.” Clarke stands too, stretching. She frowns when she goes to pull her phone out of her pocket to check the time and can’t find it.

Bellamy grabs the leftovers and their wine glasses and heads to the kitchen. “Thanks for letting me be sad and lonely on your couch,” he calls. The faucet starts to drown him out, so he continues louder, “Miller said it’s been two weeks, which is a quarter of the time we’d been dating, so now my moping is pathetic.”

“He’s just worried about you,” Clarke calls back, checking the table, then the couch for her phone. “You know Miller doesn’t know how to interact with people if they’re not grumpy and sarcastic.”

“That’s true,” Bellamy says, coming back into the living room. “When I found out I got into college, I was happy for about a week before I started panicking about finances and Miller thought I was on some sort of long-lasting acid trip.” He pauses. “Lose something?”

Clarke pulls the last cushion off the couch and glares at him. “I can’t find my phone.”

“Do you have the ringer on?” Bellamy asks, pulling out his own phone and unlocking it. “I’ll just call it for you.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the ringer- wait, no, don’t call it!”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at Clarke and shows her his screen. _Calling Clarke…_

Clarke winces as her ringtone starts blaring out and she nearly dives under the couch to retrieve her phone and answer the call.

_Hey, hey, you, you, I don’t like your girlfriend  
No way, no way, I think you need a new one  
Hey, hey, you, you, I could be your-_

It’s quiet for a second before Clarke blurts out, “Raven did it!”

“Raven did it,” Bellamy repeats, dubious.

“Yes!” Clarke says, quickly typing something on her phone. “And I can prove it. Here!”

She shoves her phone at Bellamy and he waits as the three dots under “ _tell bell you changed my ringtone to that song_ ” turn into a message.

 **Raven** : if you wanna get with clarke because of it then nope, that was 100% her.  
but if ur pissed abt it then yes, i did it. clarke wouldn’t disrespect ur relationship like that, i’m an asshole, blah blah blah.  
how did you even find out?

“Okay,” Bellamy says slowly, still staring at Clarke’s phone with his brow scrunched up, “But you left it as your ringtone for me.”

“I forgot about it.”

Bellamy gives Clarke a look. “Try again.”

Clarke sighs. “The song might have been a fair representation of my feelings,” she says quietly, looking at the floor.

“You wanna be my girlfriend?” Bellamy asks. Clarke makes a noncommittal noise and Bellamy crosses the room and tilts her chin up.

“Hey,” he says. “My girlfriend dumped me because she realized I was ridiculously into you.”

“Yeah?” Clarke asks, a small smirk growing on her face. “Did you have an embarrassing ringtone for me?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “No, because I leave my phone on vibrate like a normal person.”

“Whatever,” Clarke says, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “It did the job.”

Bellamy kisses her, so he must not disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are unaware, Clarke's ringtone is Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm really sorry I keep staring but I dreamed about you horribly dying last night and I just wanted to make sure you don't spontaneously combust" for Bellarke.

“Bellamy?”

Bellamy jumps, nearly overturning his coffee cup onto the notes in front of him. Across the table, Clarke rolls her eyes and then looks at him expectantly.

“Sorry?” he asks.

Clarke shakes her head, but grins at him. “Spacing out, Professor?”

“Shut up,” Bellamy says, kicking at her under the table. “I’m just a TA.”

“Yeah, but you want to be a professor, so what’s your argument here?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy frowns at her. “Shut up,” he says again.

Clarke grins at him and then goes back to her work. When she still feels Bellamy’s eyes on her after a minute she looks up to find him staring at her.

“What’s the deal?” she asks. “You’ve been staring at me since we got here, do I have something on my face? Is my hair fucked up? As my boyfriend, you’re required to tell me if my hair’s fucked up.”

“Your hair is fine,” Bellamy grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. If the lighting were better Clarke might think he was blushing.

“Okay,” Clarke says. “So, what’s the deal?”

Bellamy sighs. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” Clarke says, her face the picture of innocence.

“That would be more believable if you hadn’t said that exact thing to me before immediately laughing at what I tell you,” Bellamy says flatly. “Multiple times.”

Clarke makes a dismissive gesture with her hands. “That was before we were dating. I promise I won’t laugh at you.”

“Still don’t believe you.” Bellamy takes a deep breath and then says, “Ihadadreamyoudiedanditfreakedmeout.”

Clarke tilts her head a little bit. “You had a dream… that was all I got,” she says.

“I had a dream that you died and it freaked me out,” Bellamy says. He’s definitely blushing now. “You spontaneously combusted and it was traumatizing and now I’m a little bit afraid that if I take my eyes off you it might actually happen.”

It takes two seconds for Clarke to burst into laughter.

“You’re such an asshole!” Bellamy says. But he’s smiling, too.

“I’m your asshole,” Clarke shoots back. Then, “I’m sorry for laughing at you. What actually happened in the dream?”

“You fucking spontaneously combusted,” Bellamy says. “It was a very realistic dream – we were doing homework and then you exploded. It was traumatizing.”

Clarke makes a valiant effort not to laugh again, until Bellamy makes a gesture as if to say _go ahead_.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says through her giggles. “I really am, babe, but it just doesn’t make sense to me. I would never spontaneously combust in real life, so it shouldn’t bother you.”

“I know that,” Bellamy says. “It’s ridiculous. Doesn’t make me any less afraid of you spontaneously combusting.”

“How about this?” Clarke asks when the pout still doesn’t leave Bellamy’s face. She scoots her chair over so that she’s next to him, her leg brushing against his. “Now if I spontaneously combust, you’ll be pulled in with me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bellamy mutters. He pushes his leg back against hers, though, and when Clarke looks up again he’s got a small smile on his face.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I meant for that snowball to hit my friend but you came around the corner at the last second and now we’re having a snowball fight" for Minty.

It takes all of two minutes for Jasper’s idea for a friendly snowball fight to completely implode, and if he weren’t spending all of his emotional energy on being mortified, Monty would be surprised that it took that long.

“He doesn’t look pissed,” Jasper whispers, peeking over the wall of their snow fort.

They’re in the middle of the quad with Octavia and Clarke across the way in their own snow fort. They’d been going back and forth, barraging each other with snowballs, until Bellamy and Nate walked into the middle of the battlefield and got hit. Both of them.

“Clarke looks like she’s hiding too,” Jasper says. “This could be our chance!”

“I just hit Nate in the face with a snowball!” Monty hisses. “I’m never leaving this fort again.”

Jasper turns to glare at him. “And Clarke hit Bellamy. You’re both awful at flirting and the universe interfered to give you a chance to talk to your crushes. But you can’t take that chance if we don’t crush them!”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Oh no,” Jasper says, ignoring Monty. “Oh no, this is _not_ good! They’re joining in.”

“What?”

“They’re joining in! Bellamy and Miller are making their own snowballs. We need to attack while we have the element of surprise!”

With that, he runs out, war cry and all, leaving Monty behind.

Monty takes a deep breath before peeking out over the wall of their fort and watching with a mix of horror and awe as Octavia runs out from her fort to meet Jasper.

He’s so distracted by Octavia taking a flying leap to tackle Jasper that he doesn’t even notice that Nate’s behind him until he says, “Hey.”

“Oh, fu-“

Nate grins as his snowball hits Monty in the face and then he runs, yelling over his shoulder, “This is war, Green!”

If Monty were a better person, he might not engage. He might just let it go – he hit Nate and Nate hit him back. But Monty loves his friends – and has a crush on Nate – in part because they share his take-no-prisoners competitive streak that his D&D friends in high school called “moderately terrifying”.

So, he takes a few snowballs out of the stockpile he and Jasper had been building and takes off after Nate.

They run around campus for the better part of twenty minutes, exchanging snowball fire and trash talk, until Monty corners Nate behind a tree.

“This is it, Nate,” Monty says, “You’ve got nowhere to run. I’m gonna be victorious.”

He’s got his snowball ready to launch and is mid-throw when Nate tackles him.

Nate lands on top of Monty, grinning down at him. “You know,” he says, “Since I’m the one on top, and my plan worked, I think I win.” Then, he leans down and presses his lips against Monty’s.

It takes Monty a second to respond, but he does, and when Nate pulls away, they’re both grinning.

“That was so worth getting beamed with a snowball,” Nate says.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm having an allergic reaction, but you think it's a joke. Please help me I can't breath” for Bellarke.

Bellamy is dramatic – everyone knows that. Octavia said he cried when he dropped her off at college. When Miller moved out of the apartment, Bellamy didn’t talk to him for a week. He has a habit of exaggerating every story he tells.

Clarke loves him – both as a friend and in that sucky, unrequited love type of way – but he’s the most dramatic person she’s ever met.

So it’s really not her fault that she doesn’t believe him at first.

“Seriously, Clarke,” Bellamy calls from the bathroom, where he’s examining his tongue in the mirror. “My tongue feels really weird.”

She just sighs, flipping the page in her book. “You’re fine, Bell. Go lay down for a bit and watch some Netflix or read. If you keep feeling weird, let me know.”

A loud noise comes from the bathroom and Bellamy swears. “I think I just lost feeling in my leg!”

“I’m sure you did,” Clarke calls back, “Go to bed.”

Bellamy crosses the hall to his room, pausing to shoot Clarke a dirty look before letting the door slam shut.

It’s quiet for about twenty minutes.

“Clarke!” Bellamy calls, his door swinging open with so much force that it hits the wall. “This isn’t a fucking joke, I’m having an allergic reaction.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but puts her book down to look up at him. “Yeah, sure, Bella- holy fucking shit.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Clarke says, slipping her shoes on. “Stay right here, I’m gonna get my bag. We’re going to the emergency room.”

“Why?” Bellamy calls after her. “Clarke, what’s wrong? My lips feel weird!”

Clarke comes back into the room, purse and keys in hand, and winces when she sees Bellamy.

“Your lips are a little bit swollen,” she says.

“Oh, god,” Bellamy says. “I’m dying. Tell Octavia I love her and tell Miller that he owes me ten dollars. Delete my internet history.”

Clarke just tugs on his hand and leads him out of the apartment.

***

It takes them twenty minutes to get to the hospital, another ten to get through the paperwork, and then five more minutes until they’re lead to an examination room and told to wait.

Bellamy sits on the table in the room while Clarke stands next to him, holding his hand.

“I can’t believe you didn’t believe me,” Bellamy says, his words slurred. His bottom lip is swollen up to the point that it’s almost as big as his bottom lip.

“It’s not my fault,” Clarke says. “You’re dramatic.”

“You’re supposed to believe me.”

“I got you to the hospital,” Clarke grumbles.

Bellamy glares at her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Next time you tell me you’re having an allergic reaction I’ll believe you.”

“If I die, I want you to know that you’re the best person in my life.”

Clarke squeezes his hand harder this time. “You’re not dying.”

When the doctor gets in, she asks Bellamy if he has any food allergies. He tells her he doesn’t and she asks him if he ate anything out of the ordinary.

“We went out to this new Mexican place for happy hour after work,” he says. “I had some chips and salsa, a margarita, guacamole.”

“You had guacamole?” Clarke asks. “I thought you hated avocados on principal. They’re _too hipster_.”

“Everyone said it was really good,” Bellamy mumbles.

“Not to interrupt,” the doctor says, holding up a hand, “But have you eaten guacamole before? Ever?”

Bellamy thinks about it for a minute. “I don’t think so.”

The doctor nods. “That’s probably it, then. We’ll run a few tests to double check, but you’re probably allergic to avocado. We’ll get you a shot so the swelling will go down and I’ll write up an order for the tests.”  
Once she leaves, Clarke turns to Bellamy. “Oh my god,” she says. “You’re so dramatic that your unreasonable hatred of avocados manifested itself into an allergy. Miller’s gonna die when I tell him.”

“Seriously,” Bellamy says. “I was at risk of _losing my life_ and you’re thinking about how funny Miller is gonna find this.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at him and mutters, “Yeah, not dramatic at all.” Then, louder, “If I kiss you, will that make it better?”

Bellamy opens his mouth and then closes it, his eyes roving over her face. “Yes?”

Clarke pecks his cheek and grins at him when he frowns at her. “You can have a real kiss once the swelling goes down and we get home. As long as you don’t die on me before then.”

**Author's Note:**

> One of my goals this year is to get back into writing, so I'm taking baby steps. January's goal is to write 500 words a day. Flash fiction, or whatever.
> 
> If you've got prompts, feel free to leave them in the comments. :)


End file.
